


you're the best (i've ever had)

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, SO, Tears, a lot of that, but - Freeform, i just, i should be writing more of dark, non-graphic drug use, sorry - Freeform, this was plaguing me for a while and then my teacher was all SHORT STORY and i was all woo au fanfic, um, uuum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Louis says suddenly, his blue eyes flicking over to look over at the boy curled up on his sofa.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're the best (i've ever had)

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing dark but instead I wrote this i'm so sorry okay please forgive me I'll have the next chapter of dark up by Monday at the latest thank you for putting up with my dumb ass (credit for graphic goes to my twin, [speaksarcastically)](http://speaksarcastically.tumblr.com)

  


“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Louis says suddenly, his blue eyes flicking over to look over at the boy curled up on his sofa, against his side, black curls falling softly into his green eyes, making him look so young ( _so young_. Louis thinks that this is what Harry should look like every day. He should look young and fresh and _innocent_ , just like he used to. Before everything. He thinks that Harry shouldn’t look so haggard and tired and _old.)_

Louis thinks he could sit here for hours and just. Softly touch Harry’s face, and trace the contours of his jaw, his neck, his body. Louis thinks that if he were a bit more sober, he’d leave Harry alone, because Harry deserves better (Louis isn’t sober, though, so he’ll keep Harry a little longer, because he has nothing else left that’s his). Harry smiles lazily, rolling his eyes, “I bet you say that to all the boys, you loser.”

But Harry knows that Louis doesn’t. He only ever rips his chest open with his weakened hands for Harry, offering him his heart, poisoned blood staining his slim fingers, the lines on his palms like craters, holding rivers and rivers of red (holding out his beating heart for Harry. Just for Harry.) He offers his heart to Harry with the promise of tomorrow on his lips, his grin stretching his face unnaturally ( _please, Harry, you have to believe me. Please. I love you.)_

The problem is that Louis only ever whispers these things to Harry beneath the cover of night, while they’re fucking, when Louis thinks Harry is too far gone to hear him. He only ever lets it slip when his susurrus has been through the chemical filter of drugs, when the world is all bright colors and blurry silhouettes (and Harry. Always Harry). He only lets it pass through his gritted teeth when his words are slurred enough to be misunderstood, when the vowels and consonants that make up the word ‘love’ taste as bitter as the alcohol on the tip of Louis’ tongue when he breathes them into Harry’s mouth.

Louis looks at Harry, with his soft smile, and his lovely eyes, and his messy hair making him look innocent, making Louis want to wreck him all over again (and Louis thinks he’s going to burn in hell for it. He’s going to go up in flames like he does every time Harry’s tears fall on his naked skin, every time he hurts Harry with every pill he takes, every shot, every time he can’t let Harry look at him after they’ve fucked because he feels so _ashamed_ ), shaking his head as a wry, drunken smile plays at the corner of his lips.

“You’re the only boy beautiful ‘nough to hear me,” he slurs, his eyes bright beneath the dim lights in their living room, making them shine like they do every time Harry says something to remind Louis that he loves him.

Harry swears he hears his heart breaking, and Louis swears he hears it too.

\--

“ _YOU PROMISED YOU’D NEVER STOP FIGHTING FOR ME! SO FIGHT, GODDAMMIT!”_ Louis roars, and Harry stands in the middle of their living room that’s been torn to pieces in the wake of their latest war, because this is war they wage, make no mistake about it (there’s casualties on Harry’s side, but there’s blood on both). There’s glass littering the floor, and Harry might think it were beautiful, because it looks like the sunset filtering in through the window is captured in every sharp edge, but Harry thinks that it’s tragic, because the glass strewn on the floor is the glass that belongs on the picture frames they’d hung on the wall when they’d first moved in together.

Pictures of them had been placed all over their flat. Happy pictures. Pictures where Harry and Louis were smiling, where there was a light in their eyes that wasn’t put there by drugs or booze. Pictures where Louis had promised Harry forever ( _“I’ll love you forever and ever, Haz.”)_ , and Harry had promised Louis forever and always ( _“I’ll never stop fighting for you, Lou. You might hate me in the end, but I’ll never give up_.”)

Those same pictures now lay scattered at their feet, torn apart, torn to pieces (like their hearts, their smiles, their love).

Harry stands in the middle of it all, looking fragile, looking lost, (and Louis thinks, just for a moment, that that’s how Harry looked when they went to the sea for the first time, when he’d stood along the ocean at night and murmured into the salty sea breeze that he’d never felt so small), and Louis’ heart drops.

“Harry—“

“No.”

And Louis’ heart stops beating altogether. It stops beating because Harry is running, Harry is up the stairs and in their room, and he’s a flurry of movement, clothes flying everywhere, and when he’s done, he’s packed and ready to leave.

He grabs blindly at Harry’s jumper, words tumbling from his lips so quickly, _he_ doesn’t even know what he’s saying (it’s just a jumble of “ _No.” “Please stay.” “You promised.” “Please.” “I love you.”)_ Harry freezes when Louis whispers that he loves him, his hand on the doorknob, his back tense where he’s stood.

“No you don’t, Louis. We both know I’ve always loved you more.” Harry mutters, his voice breaking. He turns the knob and slams the door closed behind him.

Louis’ heart doesn’t beat again.

\--

“I’m sorry.”

Harry doesn’t even look up from his place on the couch, his eyes don’t see anything, and the light from the television flickers across his pale face, making him look ghastly. Louis’ been trying for days to get a response out of Harry, trying to get more than a simple “I’m fine,” or “Don’t worry, Louis.” ( _God, Harry, just. Love me. Lovemelovemelovemelovemeloveme.)_

Louis has never been good at words. Words have always been Harry’s forte. But Louis tries (he tries so fucking hard. He’ll keep blabbering until his fucking throat is raw and bleeding, until his vocal cords stop working, until his mouth runs dry.)

“Did you know that I used to hear whispers coming from the closet? They’d whisper things to me at night, Hazza. Did you know?” He throws himself onto the space next to Harry, his blue eyes searching Harry’s face for any reaction to his attempt at conversation.

Harry stares unwaveringly at the moving pictures on their television screen.

“I still hear them, sometimes. Sometimes they sound like you,” Louis looks away, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. He debates on whether or not continuing would be beneficial to his sanity ( _He has to know, has to. Has to know. Tell him, tell him, tell him)._

He continues on, whispering, “They tell me things, Harry. Things like I’ll never be good enough for you. Things like you never really loved me in the first place. Things like there’s a reason I have to be drunk to tell you I love you. Things like it’s no wonder you walked out on me. Things like you’ll walk out on me again. Things like I love you but you think I don’t.” And Louis hates how his voice breaks on the last word, because he wasn’t supposed to be acting like a wuss. This was supposed to be his apology to Harry, not his fucking sob story.

Harry’s eyes flick to him briefly, but Louis doesn’t notice, because suddenly, it’s like words are tumbling unwelcome out of his mouth. He gets up and keeps his back to Harry, because looking at him would be too much (being near Harry is too much. Harry is too much).

“I’m so sorry, Harry. You have no fucking idea, okay? I just. Fuck. I love you. So much. Do you even understand how much I love you? I’d die if you didn’t love me back, Harry. I wouldn’t want to live. I’d rather walk off the edge of a cliff. Harry, you just. Harry, why is it so difficult to love you? You’re like this fucking disease—a poison that’s infected me. You’re in my fucking veins, you infiltrated my—my everything. You’re in my bloodstream, you’re in my lungs, I can’t breathe unless you’re with me. You’re in my head, inside my ribcage, nestled beneath my heart. And fuck if you’re not in that, too. Is that what you wanted, Harry? My heart? Take it. Take it, I don’t want it. I don’t—I don’t want any of it if it’s not with you, do you understand? Just.”

And Louis isn’t. He can’t hold back the sob that wracks his body. He presses a fist against the cold glass window, and leans his head on it. He wonders if he’s colder than the glass (he feels it. Feels the ice creeping through his veins. He feels the frigid settle in his stomach, the way that _I don’t love you_ settles in his heart, weighing him down. It’s like he’s drowning in the icy waters that he’s jumped into with Harry).

“Fuck, Harry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I love you.” (But he’s not sorry. He’s not sorry at all for loving Harry, because Harry is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.)

Warm hands wrap around his waist as Harry’s lips press softly against his neck.

“Lou. Lou, you know. You know it’s always been you. It’s always going to only ever be you.”

And Louis knows. He knows he’s forgiven.

Louis heart starts beating again, and Harry’s starts mending itself back together with Louis’ heartstrings.

( _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_

_I love you too.)_

**Author's Note:**

> i'm totes turning this in for an assignment in my creative writing class tomorrow lol
> 
> EDIT: I TOTALLY GOT AN A++ ON THIS??? LIKE????? WHAT???????
> 
> EDIT part deux: also in case you guys were wondering here's my [tumblr](http://haz-made-lou-do-it.tumblr.com)
> 
> and here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/bravery_has_won)


End file.
